Lin Feng had entered prepared to die. He had never intended to return alive, which gave him a strange sense of detachment.
Commonly known as not giving a damn.
He sat squarely before the Hui Family's Grand Elder, legs spread wide.
He felt a peculiar version of "Having heard the Way in the morning, I could die content that evening."
The Hui Family's Grand Elder sensed Lin Feng's composure.
Light shifted in his eyes, but no matter how he looked, he could not see Lin Feng's future.
Nor could he predict what Lin Feng would do a second later.
In his vision, time was a "mountain," and everyone existed within it. The mountain contained everyone's trajectories. The problem was that Lin Feng was not someone who belonged in its valleys. He had appeared there out of nowhere.
"Whatever you want to ask, I can tell you. But let me warn you first: I'm a quack."
The term originally referred to Mongolian physicians who entered Capital City during the Qing Dynasty and drew criticism for their "heavy hands and potent medicines."
It came to mean an incompetent doctor—in reality, physicians on the ancient Mongolian steppes were limited by geography and rarely saw patients, so they favored large doses of strong medicine. Naturally, things changed when they came to Capital City.
Lin Feng was not surprised.
A quack was still a doctor, after all.
Lin Feng stared straight at the Hui Family's Grand Elder.
The Grand Elder's expression was cold and stern.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He raised a hand, then lowered it. At last, their surroundings became an expanse of ruined nothingness, as though he and Lin Feng had arrived in another world.
They were in a dilapidated loft, with drafts blowing through everywhere.
Outside the loft lay